


Hot Air

by chemm80



Category: In Plain Sight, Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-04
Updated: 2010-09-04
Packaged: 2017-11-12 04:43:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/486823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chemm80/pseuds/chemm80
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Supernatural/In Plain Sight crossover, set early to mid season 5 for Supernatural, I guess?  In which Dean and Sam enter the WitSec program to avoid playing host to their respective angels.  So, you know…crack.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hot Air

The atmosphere in the conference room was growing increasingly chilly, and Marshall didn’t think it had much to do with the relative functionality of the air conditioning system.

“Okay, so Dean…you understand that you can’t have any contact with anyone from your former life?” Mary said.

Dean glowered at her from under his brows. The muscles in his jaws bunched.

“This is stupid,” he muttered.

Sam sighed.

“Dean…” he started, but Dean stopped him with a raised palm.

“Yeah, yeah, I know…only way to stop Lucifer and Michael, big celebrity death match, end of the world, blah, blah, blah…I heard you the first hundred and fifty times.” Dean folded his arms, frowning.

“Are you pouting?” Mary asked, raising incredulous eyebrows. She blew out an exasperated sigh, collapsing against the back of her chair in what Marshall recognized as her “I give up” slump.

He could understand why Mary was getting frustrated. It wasn’t like she had a lot of patience at the best of times, and they’d been at this for a while. Not to mention the fact that the Winchesters were…well, not exactly their usual forte.

Heroes? Criminals? It was hard to say. Maybe a little of both, but whichever, Stan had argued that averting The Apocalypse—Stan always said those two words with severe gravity, like he was speaking in capital letters—was worth bending the rules a bit.

Marshall couldn’t really argue with that.

“Seriously…Albuquerque?” Dean was saying. “This is a nightmare, right? I’ve landed in the middle of a Bugs Bunny cartoon.”

“Hey, Albuquerque’s a great city,” Mary said brightly, but with a marked lack of sincerity.

With an effort Marshall refrained from making reference to Mary’s less than enthusiastic reaction to the news of her own transfer to the Duke City some years before.

“Sunshine three hundred and ten days a year, hiking, skiing, hot air balloons—you’ll love it,” Mary added.

“Hot air balloons? Oh well, why didn’t you say so in the first place? Hell, yeah. Sign me up,” Dean said sarcastically, but Sam was looking at Marshall.

“Really?” Sam asked curiously.

“Absolutely,” Marshall answered. “Largest hot air balloon convention in the world, every fall. Widely considered the most photographed event in the world, as well. Used to be sponsored by Kodak,” he finished, nodding.

“Wow. Why Albuquerque?” Sam asked, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. Marshall mimicked his posture, warming to the subject.

“Historical reasons, mostly, but the cool morning temperatures in October are a big factor, as well as what they call the “Albuquerque box”. The "box" is a set of predictable wind patterns that can be exploited to navigate the balloons.”

“Interesting,” Sam said, looking impressed.

“I know," Marshall said, leaning forward slightly as he warmed to his topic. "You see, at low elevations the winds tend to be southerly, but at higher elevations they’re usually more northerly,” he finished, gesturing to those points of the compass.

“So they’d be able to move in both directions, not just from one place to another downwind, but back toward where they started,” Sam said.

“Exactly. The balloonists use the winds to navigate in a vertical box: they ascend slightly from the launch park, move south, ascend further, move north, descend, and repeat the box, or land back in the launch park, or quite nearby.”

Marshall stopped when he glanced down at the other end of the table. Mary and Dean were both staring at them, very similar incredulous frowns on their faces.

Dean looked at Mary, who answered without waiting for him to speak.

“Yes, he’s always like that. Don’t ask,” Mary said.

“Ditto,” Dean said.

“Sure you don’t want to be relocated separately?” Mary asked Dean, smirking.

“Can’t choose your family,” Dean said with a shrug.

“I hear ya,” Mary replied under her breath.

“Okay,” Mary said a little louder, shuffling through the papers in front of her. “That does bring up something else we need to talk about. You’re entering the program together, but your new identities won’t be as two brothers. You’re too…” Mary trailed off, gesturing vaguely at Dean and Sam.

“Well-favored? Imposing? Pulchritudinous?” Marshall suggested helpfully.

Mary gave him the combination puzzled frown-headshake that was her usual response to any word over three syllables.

“I was gonna say, ‘pretty’,” she finally said, eyeing Marshall dubiously for a moment before turning back to Dean.

“But whatever…you can’t be seen as brothers if we’re going to hide you. Too recognizable, and anyway, it sounds like it’s part of the reason these angels, or whatever, are after you in the first place, so…”

“What do you have in mind?” Dean asked suspiciously. Marshall braced for impact.

“The plan is for you to pose as a married couple,” Mary said matter-of-factly.

“What?” Dean exploded, and a short laugh burst out of Sam.

“You’re kidding, right?” Sam asked.

“We have a marriage license—completely legal, or well, as legal as it can be with fake names—rings…everything you need right here,” Mary went on, talking over the objections of the Winchesters.

“Jesus, not the gay thing again…what the hell _is_ it with you people?” Dean asked the room at large, then turned to Sam.

“This is your fault,” Dean said, punctuating the last two words with points of his index finger.

“What? You’re the one who’s always crying, always pawing at me…all ‘are you okay, Sam?’” Sam said the last phrase in a falsetto, then rolled his eyes.

“Oh fuck you,” Dean said. “You get yourself choked, or kidnapped, or possessed, or _dead_ on a daily basis…somebody’s got to save your sorry ass.”

“…selling your soul, going to hell for me…it’s codependent behavior, Dean. No wonder people think our relationship is abnormal,” Sam continued, raising his voice to talk over Dean.

“There is no way _I’m_ the cause of all the ‘gay’ remarks we’re getting, Sam. You are the girliest, most touchy-feely geek on the planet,” Dean said.

“Overcompensating,” Sam shot back.

“Oh yeah? Well…you’re over…,” Dean trailed off lamely. “Your hair is too long,” he finished, more firmly.

Mary broke in.

“Okay, okay, back to your corners, you two. Looks like you won’t need much coaching in your roles as man and wi…husband. Man and man. Whatever. Good. Moving on.”

She paused briefly, then looked over at Sam.

“Sam, Dean’s right…you really should cut your hair,” Mary said.

“Hey!” Sam protested.

“…and Dean, you might want to let yours grow out a little. The leather jacket’s got to go, too,” Mary said, and then added, sotto voce, “Keep expecting you to give me the thumbs up and go ‘ayyeee’ or something.”

“Oh no, no, no…you wait just a minute, lady…” Dean said, but Mary ignored him as she continued speaking.

“Now let’s talk about your car…”


End file.
